


Smitten, Shelter

by Freezer7



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Art, Arthur is a workaholic, Eames' Stupid Cupid Exchange, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:21:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22709173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Freezer7/pseuds/Freezer7
Summary: After the inception job, Arthur wants a break.
Relationships: Arthur/Eames (Inception)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 55
Collections: Eames' Stupid Cupid 2020





	Smitten, Shelter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hardscrabble](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hardscrabble/gifts).



> The prompt was "summer", and I kind of went a little adjacent to it, but I'm pretty happy with the result. Enjoy!

The Pacific Ocean covers over sixty two million square miles, and hosts tens of thousands of islands. Of those islands, thousands have little to no occupancy. One of them in particular, one no larger than a small city park, was only occasionally occupied by two men.

They were odd, neither of them quite looked as though they belonged on the island when they first arrived, although one fit in leagues better than the other. The locals, who lived on a neighbouring island, and never saw too many tourists due to the lack of sandy beaches, were impressed by the man's fluency in the local dialect, which washed away any other concerns based on the pairs dress. 

They knew about the island home, a small thing that had never seemed to suit the family that lived there previously. They had been rich British folk, the adults had looked down their noses at the small village, and had only ever interacted with the islanders through their butler, who was sent to the village to buy fresh foods. They had a small boy, their son, that began accompanying them after ten years of their occasional vacationing. He was the only child at the island home. The family had stopped staying at the home almost twenty years ago, and many of the islanders had all but forgotten about the home by the time the two men began to visit.

Some of Eames’ first memories took place at his family's summer home. It was small. Much smaller than their home in London, and practically miniscule compared to his grandfather's house in Doncaster. Eames thinks that that was why he loved his visits to it as a kid. The break from England's dour weather, and his parents dour moods helped, too. His parents, who he had never had any funny ideas about them being in love, seemed to relax at the home. They even played with him there, sometimes. They were some of the best childhood memories Eames had, his childhood had been cut short when they had stopped going to the island after he turned seven. 

He almost forgot about the home, honestly. Once Eames had graduated and joined the service, he had distanced himself from anything even associated with his family. Then, when dreamshare took off and he went AWOL and moved to the other side of the law? He couldn’t have reached out to his family, even if he had wanted to (which, he really didn’t). 

He had expected to be disinherited from his father's will. Hadn’t expected to see the man’s (less than strictly legal) lawyer before his door the day he was due to fly to Tokyo for a job. The man didn’t flinch at Eames’ glock, at his barely contained snarl. He merely held out a manila envelope, and left when Eames took it.

It detailed his inheritance from his father, instructions for how to access funds and claim titles. Eames honestly didn’t even read through it in any great detail, instead stuffing it into his bag before rushing to the airport. 

The papers stayed there, crushed at the bottom of his bag, for the better part of a year. He wasn’t all that upset to hear about his father's passing, truth be told. Eames had worked hard to amass his wealth and prestige, so whatever his father had left him seemed rather like cheating. Not that Eames had ever had a problem with cheating before. Quite the opposite. Regardless, the manila envelope stayed buried. 

It wasn’t until after the inception job that Eames actually read them. 

After the inception job, Eames was simultaneously pissed and riding on the biggest non drug related high he’d ever felt. The job had only partially gone to shit, and they’d pulled off an inception. He couldn’t stop himself from the looks he kept shooting Arthur as the plane landed, as they passed through customs, and lasted until they hit the main strip of the airport. 

Arthur, who Eames knew detested airport restrooms, shot Eames a look as he ducked into the men’s room. As soon as Eames followed him in, Arthur was pushing him up against the door. His mouth found Eames’ and he was kissing him almost desperately. Eames kisses back with just as much emotion, his bag hitting the floor with a thud as he fisted his hands into Arthur’s lapels, dragging him even closer. 

Arthur pulled away first, panting. He dropped his head to Eames’ shoulder. They shifted into an embrace, just breathing. 

“I think I’m done, Eames.” Arthur whispered into the quiet of the bathroom, just loud enough to be heard over the muffled noise from outside. Eames heart rate spiked.  _ Done?  _

“Are you… I know we never made it official, but-“ Eames began, equally quiet, trying to tamp down on the emotion rising up his throat. 

“What?  _ Jesus _ , no, Eames, that’s not- '' Arthur's head shot up, and Eames registered for the first time just how tired he looked. His hair, normally smoothly slicked back, was beginning to look like what Eames parents would have called ill kempt, his eyes had deep shadows beneath them, and his suit that probably cost more than Eames entire closet was rumpled (though Eames might have partially been to blame for that). “I’m not breaking up with you, Eames. I… I just can’t do  _ this _ ,” Arthur gestured at the bathroom, “anymore. I’m tired, Eames,”

Eames heart slowed down at that, but concern still twisted in his chest. “You are going to have to be a little bit more clear with me, darling. I’m not quite sure what-”

“The job. Dreamshare. I think I’m done with it, Eames,” Arthur said it in a rush, continuing “This job, I don’t know what I would have, I can’t lose-” he stopped, breathed, “It's not like I need the money-” Arthur continued to ramble, but Eames didn’t quite register it, still trying to comprehend: Arthur, the notorious workaholic, the man who worked more jobs than any other pointman, the man who once worked three jobs  _ simulatianously _ , wanted to stop. 

“-and I know that you love your work, I know that, but I want more with you, more than quick five minute handjobs and jetlagged fucks and months where I see more of a gun than I see of you. Shit, Eames, I’m so fucking tired.” Arthur had moved away from Eames in his rant, and he ground the heel of his hands into his eyes. They fell to his sides, and his eyes were red.

“Oh darling,” Eames said, “I want that too, love, of course I do.”

So, Eames finally reopened the manila envelope because he and Arthur were going over finances. Which is to say, Arthur was trying to budget out their combined money for the next few decades based on a multitude of factors that Eames had quickly given up on trying to understand. So really, in truth, he didn't quite read the papers, rather tossed them into the already mountainous barricade of papers Arthur was already processing in a fit of frustration. 

That night, after they had had a rather terse dinner, Eames had gone directly to their bed. He expected Arthur to stay up working on their meticulous-down-to-the-pennies-we-can-put-in-fountains budget. Arthur surprised him by climbing into the bed soon after him. 

The bed dipped, and Eames rolled to face Arthur. He was wearing his rather ridiculous silk sleeping clothes. Eames stayed silent as Arthur got beneath the covers, watching him get settled before rolling on his side to face Eames. Arthur stayed quiet for a few moments, just making eye contact in the dark of their bedroom, before breathing a deep sigh. 

“I’m sorry, about your father, Eames,” Arthur reached under the blanket, and grabbed Eames hand, holding it between both of his. 

“Thanks, love, but I hadn’t seen the man for years. I’m surprised he even left me anything,” Eames scooted closer, sparking Arthur to snort at his wiggling. 

“He left you almost everything, from what I can tell,” Arthur looked at him sadly. 

“Oh.”

They were quiet, after that. 

The next morning, Arthur was back at the finances. Eames watched, waited until noon, and decided he had had enough. 

“Arthur, darling, when you said you were tired of the job, and wanted more of me, this wasn’t quite what I had in mind.” Eames called over the papers. Arthurs head popped up to be visible a moment later.

“Eames, this is  _ important _ . If this doesn’t get done right, everything will get fucked up, and-” Arthur started in on the rant Eames had heard twice already. His hair looked ridiculous, the bags under his eyes looked somehow even worse since the inception, and he was still wearing his goofy pajamas. Eames ran a hand down his face.

“Love, you need a vacation.  _ We _ need a vacation. You look half-mad, darling,” Eames broke in, just as Arthur was getting to the part about how American social security was failing. 

“Eames, that's what I’m trying to tell you! I need to budget-” Arthur started.

“No, no, darling, you have done quite enough budgeting.” Eames started rooting through Arthurs no doubt meticulous piles, searching. 

“Eames, what are you-” Again, Eames cuts him off, this time with a small noise of triumph as he brandishes the manila envelope. He opens it, dumping the papers onto the table, flipping through them. 

“Oh come on you old tosser.. No, wait- aha!” Eames plucks one of the papers out and Arthur looked at it as it was gestured in front of his face, snatching it from Eames fingers when he wouldn’t hold it still. “Pack a bag darling, we’re going on holiday.”

The summer house was beginning to age. The wallpaper was starting to peel slightly, and the whole home was covered thick in dust. It was perfect for them. The house was larger than Eames remembered it being (probably due to the series of studio apartments he’d lived in after he’d moved out). The locals gave them passing funny looks, but were happy to have new customers at the markets. 

It took them just under a week to clean the house and make it to their liking. They celebrated that evening with a bottle of whiskey Eames had found in a cupboard. They fell into bed together, roo. The heat of the afternoon on their skin, and the heat of the alcohol in their blood made them tender, sweet in a way that hadn’t often been afforded to them by their lives. After, when they lay together, slick with sweat and pleasant exhaustion, Eames tugged Arthur from the bed.

He led them out onto the small balcony that was connected to the master bedroom. It looked out towards the ocean, where the sun was just beginning to set. They stood together, with Eames arms wrapped around Arthurs middle, watching the sun descend into the waves. 

Things were going to be ok. 

[ ](https://imgur.com/8XcvOkF)

[](https://imgur.com/yQnJZe2)

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you like! I was originally going to go with more art and no writing, but I'm pretty happy that I went with writing. This is one of my first ever fics. Happy valentines day! You can find more of my work on tumblr at theodoresart


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